Rufus looked open-eyed astonishment.
“That is not all,” said Lally. “I took my aunt’s name at her death, at her request. She made me her heiress. I am the owner of the town house in Mount street, and of the estate of Heather Hills, and have besides fifty thousand pounds safely invested, so that I have an income of about three thousand pounds a year.”
Rufus’ arms dropped from his wife’s waist.
“An heiress!” he muttered. “And I have dared to dream that you would take me back? An heiress! A trifle of money will set you free, Lally, from any marriage claims, and you can marry according to your new position. I do not wonder that Mrs. Peters turned me out of your house, a poor, good-for-nothing coward unfit even to address you. An heiress! O Heaven! The word is like a two-edged sword between us!”
He moved backward, white and trembling.
A mischievous gleam shot from Lally’s gipsy eyes.
“I have known so much of poverty,” she said, “that I should like to keep this wealth. It would make a good basis to build upon. But if it is ‘like a two-edged sword between us,’ I suppose I can endow some already rich hospital with it, or give it to Peters, or send it to the heathen.”
“You don’t mean, Lally,” cried Rufus, all agitation, “that you, a rich lady, will stoop from your high estate and marry me, and try to make something of me?”
“I do mean just that!” cried Lally, with spirit. “For you know, Rufus, I—I love you.”
Rufus was at her side again in an instant.